


Sugar and Spice (Taste Oh So Nice)

by samuraiflo



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Aprons, Basically PWP, Dick is an exhibitionist, High Heels, Jason doesn't have a foot fetish, M/M, except how he kind of does, mentions of Tim being a vouyer, really he doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samuraiflo/pseuds/samuraiflo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason stops by the manor, not expecting anyone to be there. Dick bakes muffins not expecting anyone to be there. Funny how expectations can be shattered.<br/>Basically an excuse to dress Dick up and let Jason have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Spice (Taste Oh So Nice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thoughtless_dreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtless_dreamer/gifts).



> Inspired by thoughtless_dreamer while we were watching The Taste a while back. She suggested Dick baking in just an apron and heels and I delivered.  
> Dick's apron is [this one](http://img1.etsystatic.com/005/0/5807062/il_fullxfull.385525757_du83.jpg)  
> And his shoes are [these](https://s3.amazonaws.com/assets.svpply.com/large/1221659.jpg?1360477557)

It wasn’t everyday that one walked into the kitchen of Bruce Wayne’s house and found someone cooking. In fact, the entire family of bats and birds had come to assume that Alfred only cooked when everyone was asleep because he was always so discreet about it. Sure, it was _possible_ that one might walk in and see him finishing up something, but the process was rarely witnessed.

So as Jason walks in the front door and smells the tantalizing aroma of muffins wafting out of the kitchen he is both immensely pleased and completely surprised. He drops his jacket (and all the things it contains) on the chair by the door with a soft clank of weaponry and walks towards the smell, not bothering to either make a lot of noise or hide the sound of his footsteps. Alfred wouldn’t mind that he’s here and Jason doesn’t want him to stop just so the man would come and greet him at the door. Instead, he strolls into the kitchen with every intention of hopping up on the counter for a bit of small talk and maybe some of whatever smells _heavenly_.  
  
Instead, something else pops up and he stops dead in his tracks, breath catching in his suddenly tight throat.  
  
Because instead of Alfred in his usual garb, Dick Grayson is bustling about the kitchen in nothing but an apron tied loosely around the very lowest point of his hips.  
  
Scratch that--an apron and _heels_. (Jason’s brain takes a half second to appreciate the deep red of them before his last remaining synapses short-circuit at the sight of so much perfect skin exposed to him.)  
  
While Jason stands in the doorway, mouth open to catch any stray flies, Dick works as if it were perfectly normal that he’s baking in practically nothing, bending to take something out of the oven, swaying his hips as he walks over to stir a bowl sitting on the counter after setting the tray down, then finally turning towards Jason as the older man swivels to get an ingredient out of the cupboard.  
  
A smile bright enough to melt the butter in the fridge lights up the first Robin’s face upon seeing his brother standing in the doorway.  
  
“Jason! Hey! I wasn’t expecting anyone back until a lot later. Nice of you to stop by.”  
  
Jason’s mouth refuses to form coherent words as Dick pivots around and goes back to his preparation, absorbed in his task as he continues to talk.  
  
“I’m making some muffins. One of Alfred’s recipes. Probably won’t be as good as his because everything the man touches turns to culinary gold, but I’m giving it a go. You want to help?”  
  
Jason finds that he’s taken a step forward without realizing it, hand slightly outstretched towards the delicious looking confection wrapped in a thin sheet of cotton.  
  
“Jason?” Dick turns when he doesn’t receive an answer, placing him smack in the middle of Jason’s personal space since he’s moved forward a few steps.  
  
“God, Dickie...” The cracked and frayed voice that sounds throughout the kitchen must be his own but he doesn’t have a recollection of choosing to speak, especially in a voice that broken and...so turned on. “You look good enough to eat.”  
  
Dick’s grin is still in place, directed full-force now right into Jason’s still surprised countenance.  
  
“Nope, that’s the muffins. Later.” He frowns slightly and looks intently at the slightly younger man. “You alright Jay?”  
  
With a determination he doesn’t feel (not completely, at least, because he is currently determined to do something _entirely_ different than talk with Dick) Jason advances on him, backing him up against the counter as he rattles off semi-coherent words, barely conscious of what he’s saying as his eyes traces the hard lines of muscles that define Dick’s chest and stomach.  
  
“Jesus, Dick, you’re wearing an _apron_. _Just_ an apron. No, an apron and _heels_. Fuckin’ sinful heels, I might add. God, you should have seen your ass when I walked in, so high and tight and ready for the taking. Naked’s an even better look on you than spandex, Dickiebird, and I never thought I’d find something that looked even better than the fingerstripes you used to wear.”  
  
His hand moves to toy at the top of the apron, fingertips sliding against the smooth skin and the slight sheen of sweat coating it. The kitchen is hot for reasons completely unrelated to the oven heating in the corner. There’s a trimmed trail of hair that dips below the apron, a pointer to things to come, and Jason’s mouth _waters_ at the idea of unwrapping Dick and spreading him out on the counter, of dripping batter onto him then licking it up with his tongue. Screw salmonella--he’d risk it if it meant that he got to lick those abs clean.  
  
Dick’s hand is gentle on his chin, tilting it up so he can look Jason in the eye, voice soft as he speaks.  
  
“Jason. You...” Dick’s throat works around an audible swallow and Jason’s eyes track the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. “I wasn’t intending for anyone to be home.”  
  
“I can see that,” he murmurs, trying for a wry grin but mostly failing as Dick’s hand cups his cheek and he has to resist the urge to lean into it like an attention-starved dog.  
  
“You weren’t supposed to see this. I’m used to my place where I can walk around doing whatever I want. Most of the time that means no clothes. I’m more comfortable that way.”  
  
Jason’s remark ( _Well we’d all be more comfortable, less aroused, if you wore clothes_ ) is cut off by Dick’s thumb pressing gently on his bottom lip.  
  
“Don’t. I’m comfortable with my body, I’m not self-conscious and I don’t like to hide it all the time under layers and layers of clothes when I’m working, especially if it’s going to be warm like here in the kitchen. So I usually cook or clean like this at my own place.”  
  
( _Don’t think of Dick in a French maid’s outfit. Don’t think of Dick in a French maid’s out--_ )  
  
“No one was supposed to be here. I was going to make these as a surprise before I headed back to the ‘Haven for some undercover work I’m starting tomorrow. Hence the heels. I’m breaking them in.”  
  
Impossibly, Dick balances on one leg while he lifts the other to raise one pump for Jason’s inspection. In addition to the perfect fit, the shoes boast an approximate 5 inch heel (which would explain why Jason felt he was looking up at Dick) and a black underside that whispers of mystery and sinful seduction from the person wearing them. And--God almighty, Dick had _waxed_ , or at least shaved. His calf is perfectly smooth, a long expanse of tanned perfection over tight muscle leading up to the bottom of the apron.  
  
And the beginnings of Dick’s slight erection.  
  
The fabric in his groin area is beginning to bulge, a fact that can’t be attributed to anything besides the increased blood flow from sexual arousal.  
  
He whips his eyes back up to DIck’s face so hard it almost hurts, feels like mental whiplash. He’s ready to smirk and snark out some comment about that, but he can’t, not when the older man is smiling slightly, almost self-deprecatingly as he speaks.  
  
“And I won’t lie to you and say it doesn’t turn me on a bit, Little Wing.” He mumbles the old nickname like it’s nothing, like he calls him that every day, like it won’t make Jason’s cock twitch in his pants, begging where its master could not--would not _yet_ \--beg. Dick’s voice drops another octave, becoming bedroom intimate and whiskey deep. “Walking around wearing nothing but these _‘come fuck me’_ heels, doing something as mundane as baking, knowing any minute that I could get caught but assuming that I won’t, knowing for certain that Bruce--and probably Tim--will look at the tapes later and see me. Watch as I jerk off after I’m done, before I go back upstairs to get dressed and leave.”  
  
Jason’s whimper is pure instinct, raw desire bubbling out of his mouth completely unbidden, but he’s glad for it when Dick’s eyes turn a darker blue and his pupils dilate until his eyes are more black than blue.  
  
“Does that turn you on, Jay? Knowing what I do? Being on display and a part of it, too?” His grip tightens on Jason’s chin slightly as he tilts the man’s face away so as to lean in and whisper against his ear. “Knowing that I’d let you take me, here in the kitchen we both grew up in, in full view of the cameras we both know are here. Does it turn you on, Jason?”  
  
A light trail of kisses down his neck had Jason’s knees are threatening to buckle beneath him.  
  
“Make you want to spread me out on the counter, show me how _good_ you can be?”  
  
That was it. That was absolutely and positively _it_. He isn’t going to take it anymore, isn’t going to _listen_ to the things he could be doing when he could be actually _doing_ them instead. He pushes back on Dick’s biceps, hands failing to go all the way around ( _don’t think of how hot that is, that he’s as big as you, maybe bigger in some places_ ) but finding enough purchase anyways to force Dick against the counter. He slides one hand quickly up Dick’s arm, neck, face to grip his cheek hard and pull him down into an absolutely bruising kiss, all lips and sheathed teeth, chaste considering how rough it is, neither of their lips having parted yet in their--his--haste.  
  
Strong arms wrap around his neck and the sounds echoing off the built in cabinetry are a mix of their combined moans of pleasure. He moves his hands to rest around Dick’s waist and squeezes, pushing up as best he can until the other man gets the hint and breaks the kiss just long enough to hop up onto the counter ( _how does he manage to be so damn graceful in heels?_ ). With a smirk, he hooks an ankle around Jason’s waist and pulls him closer, right into his embrace, heat radiating off his chest and making the air around them smell more like man in addition to the sugar and spice smell of the muffins cooling on the counter behind Dick's back.  
  
“Mm, guess I really hit a nerve there, didn’t I?” His grin is shit-eating wide and just as blinding as before. Jason feels an odd sense of pride that he put it there, that it’s directed at him, that he’s this close to see exactly how Dick’s lips are slick from their kiss.  
  
“Oh, you hit _something_ , Dickie, but I think it has more occupied veins than nerves at this point.” He resists the urge to adjust himself, but just barely, and only because it would mean that he’d have to take his hands off Dick’s perfect abs and solid arm to reach down and move his groin away from the drawer handle. He settles for shifting his hips as Dick wraps the other leg around him.  
  
“I like the sound of that,” the acrobat murmures, breath soft and sweet against Jason’s lips. “Though I suppose I’d like it if you could feel it, too.”  
  
He winks, brazen and reminiscent of his time as Robin, a jaunty ocular salute, before leaning down and taking Jason’s breath away through his mouth, parting slowly and inviting him in. As much as he wants to take it slow (and savor-catalogue-enjoy this moment, burn it into his mind forever) Jason can’t help but rise to the tease, parting his own lips and pushing out to taste the sweetness of Dick’s mouth. He’d obviously been sampling the batter (something sweet and smooth) because Jason can still taste it on his tongue as he sucks lightly before tilting his head back and up to swipe at his teeth, moving easily over the smooth enamel as he cleans any last traces of the batter from them and replaces it with the taste of himself--of the coffee he had this morning, the cigarette he had 10 minutes ago, the mint he popped afterwards to cover the smell on his breath.  
  
All he can hear, taste, feel is Dick. His small cries of pleasure, muted by Jason’s own mouth, as he squeezes at his hips, toying with the top frill of the apron. The sweetness of his mouth, dissolving now into something richer, deeper, but still just as sweet in different ways, mixing with the lingering taste of burnt paper in his own mouth. Strong hands on his chest, shoulders, neck, fingers sliding through his hair, tugging and pulling, encouraging.  
  
Encouraging him down to soft kisses pressed against broad shoulders, over a muscled chest with a quick stop to tease at the twin points of hardness there (which Dick objects to with soft gasps), over sculpted abs and down, down, down.  
  
Jason finds himself in a position he’s not accustomed to--on his knees. He bows for no man, takes shit from no mob boss, pimp, or drug dealer. He’s too proud, too _good_ for that. For everything else he is, he will not stoop that low. He’s above it all. And yet he’s willing to sink onto the hard floor, repressing a wince as his knees protest the unaccustomed position, and take Dick’s ankle in hand while looking up at him with complete docility.  
  
“Mmm, look so good like that, Jay,” Dick practically purrs. “Look good with the color red. Reminds me of when you were a redhead. I have a thing for redheads, you know.”  
Dick’s smile is amused and sensual as he flexes his calf and drags the rounded tip of the shoe against Jason’s cheek, watching hungrily as the younger man turns into the touch and does everything but kiss the shiny patent leather. The desire he feels at the motion surprises Jason enough that he doesn’t even think about fighting it, just lets it run through his body and direct his movements.  
  
“Like you better with the stripe here though. Reminds me of before...”  
  
The toe is now dragging lightly against Jason’s hairline, the thin heel dangerously close to his eye, but he finds that he can’t care when there’s light pressure against his head _right_ where he knows the physical manifestation of his poliosis to be, where Dick’s obscenely talented foot is tracing it from the roots towards the tips with just the smallest bit of pressure, enough to make him feel it but not enough to actually _touch_ him in any way that’s _better_. He has to bite back a whimpered plea, something he’d never thought he’d have to do.  
  
“You want to touch, Little Wing? I’ll let you, you know. Anything you want, baby, you can take it. Take it all, everything. ‘S yours if you want it.”  
  
With (not) shaking hands, Jason reaches up and supports Dick’s calf with one hand and grips the bottom of the shoe (instrument of sexaul torture/fantasy that it is) with the other as he strokes slowly over the surface, fingers sliding against the material to meet Dick’s warm skin underneath. The proximity of the dark red next to his dark skin is heavenly, perfect in its own alluring way, and Jason can’t resist placing the silently asked for kiss against the skin peeking out above the curved toe covering. It’s warm and soft against his lips, even warmer against his nose, and the thought of tasting every inch of skin right next to the patent leather has his mouth watering.  
  
So he doesn’t resist. He places light kisses against the top of Dick’s foot then flicks his tongue out over a vein, tracing it up towards the muscular yet slender ankle before opening wider and sucking on the protrusion of bone, pressing his tongue flat against it when DIck moans and makes a jerking motion as if he’s trying to grab onto Jason’s hair but can’t because he’s too far away, on the ground, worshiping the shoes on his feet. As he drags his lips slowly over the side seam and back down to where he started out, Jason’s brain thinks it very helpful to point out that he doesn’t have a foot fetish.  
  
Really. He doesn’t.  
  
And yet he can’t seem to stop petting the shoes and Dick’s skin inside them. Or imagining laying him on the kitchen table with nothing on _but_ the shoes, taking him hard and fast and using Dick’s flexibility so he can bend and stretch so Jason can see the shoes move with the man’s legs as he goes faster, watch as his every thrust forward and slide backward causes them to bounce until he pulls them up higher and rests them on his shoulders, maybe sucking a mark into the top of Dick’s foot around the edge so there’s a slight relief print on his foot, a line where the shoes would be even if he’s not wearing them. It’s tempting, oh so tempting, and the thought has him moaning around a mouthful of skin and red, but he can’t get carried away. Already he’s so hard he could risk pulling a teenage move and missing the main even completely.  
  
So he pulls back, which takes more effort than he’s willing to admit. ( _Maybe there’s some credence to the whole foot fetish thing after all, if it involves these particular feet in these particular heels._ ) Stands slowly and pulls Dick into another kiss, this one faster and deeper as Dick makes little mewling noises in the back of his throat, hands pulling him closer as if noses-pressed-to-cheeks isn’t close enough, wrapping and pulling and _clinging_ to him like a barnacle but rubbing up against him like the waxing and waning tide.  
  
That gets Jason thinking of beaches for a half second before he thinks of nude beaches and how he’s wearing _far_ too much clothing, as is Dick even though it’s just the apron and the heels, which he’s decided he likes rubbing up against the outside of his thighs. He bites none too gently at Dick’s lips and the acrobat arches into him, sliding his hands to grip at Jason’s shirt, rucking it up to grasp at skin below, blunt nails digging into muscle and trying in vain to pull him closer as the younger man backs up just enough to break their lip contact.  
  
“Take it off me, Dick,” Jason murmurs, cupping his cheek and sliding a thumb over the wet part of his lip that’s still freshly swollen from the bite.  
  
Dick obeys like a puppy pleasing his master, nodding breathlessly and rubbing into Jason’s palm, turning his head to kiss it gently before mouthing at his skin hungrily as his hands gather the material covering skin and lifts it smoothly up and over long arms and dark hair. The reward is a finger inside his mouth, the work-roughed pad of Jason’s thumb sliding against the tip of Dick’s tongue, teeth and lips closing around skin and nail like the best treat. He watches as Dick grabs his wrist, holding his hand in place as he works over the digit, flicking it with wet pressure, closing his eyes as he sucks on it and twists his head _just_ so to where the vigilante can imagine how this situation would play out if one of them (one guess which) was on their knees and sucking on a different piece of anatomy. Jason can’t help the words that fall out of his mouth as he slides the hand not cupping DIck’s face softly through the man’s hair, petting and stroking, scratching lightly behind his ear and at the base of his scalp.  
  
“God, Dickie, gotta mouth made for this, huh? Made to suck on things, wrap around warm skin and lick just like _that_ , Jesus. Bet you give one helluva blow job, down on your knees and moving, taking it all the way. Choking on it. Loving every fucking _second_ of this, aren’t you?”  
  
And he is. Dick’s eyes are closed, cheeks hollowed out as he hums low from the back of his throat, sucking hard enough on just one finger to make his cheeks begin to hollow out. He’s almost whimpering when Jason tries to pull his thumb out and only relents when a nail digs into his cheek.  
  
“Jay, I was enjoying that,” Dick bemoans, blinking at him like a child who’s lost his favorite toy. A very sexd-up child, granted, with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.  
  
“Yeah, I could see that. But we need to get a move on here. I, uh, need to get a move on here or we won’t be able to do much.” He’s not blushing, he’s _not_ blushing, he’s abso-fucking-lutely not--  
  
“You’re blushing, Jay,” Dick teases, laughing as he bats his fucking long girlie lashes at him and smiles. “Got performance issues, Little Wing? You were in the habit of _shooting off_ your grapple before the rest of us were ready.”  
  
“Shut up, fucker,” Jason growls, pinching the inside of Dick’s thigh under the apron, drawing a yelp from the man. “You’re hot, alright? Jesus, don’t make me leave you here.”  
  
The contrition is immediate but the smile is still there, as insistent as the hands stroking smoothly over his chest.  
  
“Aw, Jay, you know I don’t mind. I still like you, no matter what problems you may or may not have. And I’m not saying you have any.”  
  
“You’re talking your way out of a good lay pretty fast, Dickie. You wanna continue with that line of thought or you wanna let me take this apron off and examine your _problem area_?”  
  
There’s a laugh Jason can’t be sure he doesn’t at least slightly reciprocate and Dick pulls him into a kiss, sweet and slow, as he guides Jason’s hands back and down to untie the bow resting atop his sacrum before helping him slide the material down and off to puddle on the floor. It’s all Jason can do _not_ to grope the tight flesh below him but instead stroke it gently, knead it and pull until Dick’s just barely resting on the edge of the counter, legs wrapped firmly around Jason’s lower back and pulling him in tight enough that when he shimmies his hips up he gets a bit of friction against the man’s abs.  
  
Jason can’t see but he can _feel_ Dick’s erection pressing against his stomach, can feel just how long his is and how wide, can tell when the head smears across his skin with each roll up of his brother’s hips. He doesn't’ fight the urge to reciprocate the motion and he rolls up into his body, rubbing the top of his pants against the soft skin of Dick’s thighs. He steals one last needy moan from Dick’s mouth before he pulls back, steps back completely, unwrapping the legs around him amidst small mewls of protest.  
  
“Off the counter. Come on. Can’t do this when you’re up there.”  
  
He holds out a hand to help DIck down but the man ignores it as he slides smoothly onto the ground and right onto his feet, not even swaying slightly in his heels. He’s taller now and Jason feels a bit absurd thinking he’s going to order DIck around, tell him what he wants and get him to follow instructions. But at the same time, the idea of taking control even though DIck is so much taller, probably even more powerful, turns him on and makes him remember that pants have zippers and they can actually feel _good_ when you rub against them as a real life sex god smirks at you.  
  
“What do you want, Little Wing?” His voice is back to oozing sex appeal, dirty promises hanging on the sharp pronunciation of the t’s and sensual pleasures hiding in the smoothness of the vowels.  
  
“Island. Now.”  
  
He points unnecessarily to the center island and Dick complies, walking over with an (intentionally) alluring swing in his hips that serves to accentuate the curve and tautness of his backside, the length of his legs, the play of the muscles in his back and the slimness of his hips in contrast to his shoulders. It’s all he can do not to jump DIck right then. Instead, he turns and rummages in the cupboard for the little jar he knows Alfred keeps on hand to treat burns in the kitchen. Vaseline isn't the best of lubes, but it'll work adn there is no way in  _hell_ Jason is leaving this room to go find something else suitable.  
  
When he turns back around, Dick’s up on the island, bowl next to him, two fingers swirling around in the batter, collecting some of its contents before bringing them up to his lips to lick. God _damn_ if it isn’t enough to get Jason thinking about blowjobs again, and he kinda wishes they had more time to do this, more time to get Dick on his knees in the center of the kitchen so he can show just how good he is with that mouth, but he’s pushing it as it is, drawing this out long enough that Jason can feel himself getting wound up almost too tightly to where it’s going to _hurt_ to keep denying himself. The look in Dick’s eyes as he sizes Jason up from his vantage point is enough to make him realize this is worth it. That and the fact that, as he watches, Dick brings one foot up onto the island, resting it on the edge of the counter, heel planted close to the inside of his thigh so he’s framing one side of his groin with bright red and showing off his insane flexibility.  
  
Oh yeah, totally worth it to have Dick teasing him like that, licking his fingers clean as he looks through his eyelashes down at Jason, pulling him in closer like a planet with its own gravity field. He can’t look away from those deep blue eyes, watching as they blink slowly and look down  pointedly at both the tub in Jason’s hands and the front of his pants past that, dragging his eyes back up the skin between that and the man’s eyes. The tilt of his chin is alluring and effective, used to bring more than one man to his knees, no doubt. Considering who Dick’s probably been with, Jason has no shame in admitting that he feels the need to start whimpering at the surreal image in front of him.  
But between whimpering and acting, acting wins out.  
  
Touching and feeling are such different sensations. With a touch you get a sense of what a thing is, but if you truly _feel_ something you can determine so much more about it. Pressing up against an opponent during combat to feel their moves before they make them can be a wonderful predictor of their actions. Feeling the texture or consistency of a substance can lead to its proper identification. Feeling Dick Grayson’s muscles move under tight, warm skin?  
  
That’s another sensation entirely.  
  
He’s soft yet hard, delicate in a way that promises he won’t break but he’d like you to try your luck anyway. His thigh is warm against Jason’s palm, his hip against his fingertips. He feels smooth and solid, tangible and real even as he looks like an anatomical impossibility. The lack of hair, even up here, is a bit disconcerting, seems almost like touching a woman’s thigh because Dick’s done such a good job at preparing for the undercover opp. (Jason briefly wonders if there’s a dress in a shade of red matching the shoes hanging in Dick’s closet at home, wonders how adamantly he’d have to ask to be able to take him out in it then take him home and get him _off_ in it.) A firm squeeze gives barely any resistance, muscle protesting the compression and grounding Jason in reality. Hardly any women outside of their profession have thighs this solid. There’s usually a little give, a bit of softness to lend them an alluring curve.  
  
Instead, there’s dense muscle leading to a curved cock, the head of which is now smearing against Dick’s lower abdomen and creating a quarter circle outline of wetness on his rich skin. Jason wants to touch, to stroke and tease and maybe even suck, pay the man back for all the years of tight spandex that had left little (except it’s not little at all) to the imagination.  
  
He pulls Dick’s wrist, removing his fingers from his mouth so they can talk.  
  
“Lay down and tell me you want it.” He’s surprised at the power in his voice, a razor’s edge of words cutting quick through the air. He’s even more surprised when Dick nods, moaning softly as he lays back, spreading himself out on the countertop on his back like he’d been told.  
  
“Yes. Jason, I...I want it. You know I do. I told you already.”  
  
“Not good enough, Dickie,” he intones as he slides his right hand down from Dick’s hip to his knee and works the other up from the shoe resting on the counter, pressing and coaxing until both legs are flat, knees bent as his feet dangle. “I know you can do better, can get me to do what you want.”  
  
With a slight arch of his spin, Dick proceeds to do just that. He shifts just enough to look down at Jason, wetting his lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as he spreads his legs wider, inviting him in, showing him what he could have, showing _off_ as he flexes and makes a small roll of his hips into the air.  
  
“Please, Jay,” he whispers, voice breathy and rough at the same time. “I already said I want you and I meant it. I want you inside me, want to watch you while I feel you. I need...please, Little Wing. I _need_ you to do this for me. Can’t be anyone but you, not now. Has to be you, you’re perfect for me.”  
  
Jason’s got the Vaseline opened and one finger already coated before he realizes it, entranced with the timbre of Dick’s voice and the desire to give what he wants, to take what is offered. He uses one hand to spread muscled cheeks and the coated tip of a finger on his other hand to swirl slowly around the tight center as he listens.  
  
“Yeah, like that. Only better. More. You can go faster, Jay. I don’t mind. Feels good, don’t you think? The slight stretch-burn--ohhh, yes, like that.”  
  
That last part comes when Jason’s finger pushes forward and in, tip breaching the ring of muscle and sinking into the first bit of warmth Dick’s body has to offer. He’s tight and Jason’s not as surprised as he should be. In a way, he kind of figured that, even with all the people Dick’s supposedly been with, that there will never be a place on the man’s body that is lose, every inch of him tight, toned perfection. He says as much with a slight twitch of his finger as it slides deeper into the welcoming heat.  
  
“God, Jason, your finger is so...feels like mine, rough and perfect. Bet you could reach even deeper, find my...ahh...y-yes, that feels good.” His nod is enthusiastic if a bit shaky, due most likely to the slight brush of skin over bundled nerves right where Dick had been about to direct him. It only took Jason three tries and he’s outrageously proud of that fact as Dick clenches around him, body begging for more.  
  
With the next brush, harder and more deliberate, Dick’s voice breaks, becomes more harried, more desperate.  
  
“P-Please, Jason. Another. I...I need...need this, need it now. Need you, oh, Jay, come on. Just--oh god, yes.”  
  
Jason watches in fascination as he’s able to push a second finger in easily next to the first even though he’d barely worked it in and out. Dick’s still tight, still as perfectly wonderfully warm around him as before, but even more so now that he’s filled with more. His back is arching as Jason moves his fingers slowly in deeper, Dick’s hips pushing down against him, urging him forward with small little noises, semblances of words, high sounds that bounce off the walls and come back to tease at his ears. An experimental spreading of his fingers draws a long, rough sound from the depths of Dick’s chest and a smirk plants itself firmly on Jason’s mouth. He moves his fingers against the rhythm of Dick’s hips, pushing in and out as he moves in counterpoint, shifting as much as he can without sliding off the counter.  
  
“Sing so pretty, Dickie,” he murmurs, nuzzling against Dick’s knee as it presses in against his face for stabilization, and when did Jason kneel down so he’s at eye level with his fingers? “Want.” And he can’t finish that sentence, can’t even begin to vocalize everything that he wants in this situation. The list would be longer than they have time for and would cover so many things they could probably take a year to work through it.  
  
“Take...take, Jason, I wa... _pleaseeee_.” The last word is drawn out on a long moan as a third finger is pressed in so easily it’s almost as if it doesn’t even phase the man, only makes him feel more and it draws a quick breath out of Jason’s mouth, almost like he’s been punched in the gut with the ferocity of the desire that overtakes him.  
  
After a few long, tortuous thrusts, he stills his fingers and Dick whines, sitting up on his elbows to look Jason fully in the eye.  
  
“You stopped.” His pout is adorable yet sexy and makes the younger man want to kiss it until it goes away. His voice promises pain if he doesn’t start again, and Jason reacts, heart speeding up. Maybe next time...maybe they could go down that road.  
  
“I know. Thank you for the observation.” He presses his fingers up with an innocent smile as Dick’s body reacts to the stimulation, shuddering slightly and pulling a noise from between pouting lips. “I need you to get off there. Didn’t realize it was too high. Can you do that for me?”  
  
The nod is immediate and eager, the action of someone used to following orders, used to pleasing those around him. Strong hands press on Jason’s shoulders as he reclaims his fingers and his brother slides down and off the counter to press himself fully against the other man’s body, breath hot as it comes out against his ear, hands soft as they stroke and explore skin. With a mutual turning of heads, they’re kissing again, slow but intense, open mouths and sliding lips and thrusting tongues, neither of them content to concede the upper hand because fighting like this is much better. Especially when a hand moves down between them to rub at Jason’s pants, silently asking, reminding him of why they’re here, of what they could be doing, of how achingly _hard_ he is. Dick holds back, squeezing just hard enough to draw a sound from Jason’s mouth before pulling back, leaning away from him to speak, voice uneven.  
  
“Little Wing, I...Jason, _please_. You said...”  
  
“I know. Come on, I’ve got you.” He pushes gently and Dick follows, walking over towards the table in the breakfast nook, leaning over onto his hands as Jason whispers into his ear, tells him how fucking hot he is, how kinky, how amazingly _perfect_ it’s going to be inside him.  
  
They both let out small noises at the sound of Jason’s zipper going down, the _snick_ of metal on metal sounding loud amidst their panted breaths. He pushes his pants down but not off, somehow liking the idea of being so gone, so completely lost in this that he hasn’t even toed off his shoes or taken off his pants until this moment, this perfect culmination of passion they’ve been working towards. As he shifts his underwear down after the pants, Dick turns to look at him over his shoulder, the intensity of his gaze making Jason feel a bit like a teenager fumbling through their first time.  
  
“You aren’t even gonna take your pants off? God, that _shouldn’t_ be hot.” He bites his lip and Jason’s confidence skyrockets again, reminding him that he’s here with Dick Grayson.  
  
 _Dick Grayson_ , who every man, woman, animal, vegetable, mineral would be with if they had a chance. Who was once with _Starfire_ , back when she was hot and exotic and _new_ for Christ’s sake. Dick who will let him have this, who _wants_ it with him, who begged him. Dick who is...looking over his shoulder expectantly.  
  
“Waiting for something else? Because really, Jason, I’m going to explode if you aren’t in me soo--”  
  
Jason doesn’t mean to spank him. Honestly. The last thing he wants to cause Dick is pain. But when he moans for it, bowing his head and shuddering slightly, Jason doesn’t regret the snap decision one bit. In fact, he does it again on the other side, slapping hard enough to leave twin prints on the smooth skin of Dick’s ass, proof that someone with bigroughpowerful hands was here, gave and took and _used_ because they _could_ , because Dick _let_ them.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dick whimpers out, panting. “Jason I swear to God--”  
  
He pushes back against the tip of Jason’s hardness, keening slightly when it’s moved away for a second before it comes back, covered in a thick layer of Vaseline. Jason’s left hand presses down on Dick’s hip hard, keeping him in place and pulling him back at the same time as he pushes forward slowly, sliding just a bit into heat and tight and _ohgodthat’sgood_. His right hand is busy holding his cock, squeezing at the base to hold back a bit of the pleasure that’s threatening to overwhelm him already, or he’d smack Dick’s ass again just to see if he could _feel_ the moan this time when the man makes it.  
  
Instead, he settles for a murmured _“Fuck, Dickie,”_ and pushes in more, groaning along with his brother as he sinks in deeper, sliding into an ass so tight Jason would guess that Dick was a virgin if he wasn’t taking it like a pro. Because _damn_ that’s good, so warm around him as he gets the swollen head through the ring of muscle then into him more, brushing against Dick’s prostate completely by accident, a touch which has the man hissing and arching his back, pushing down into the slow press forward Jason’s been setting, forcing him in deeper, stretching himself wider.  
  
When he’s in all the way, looking down in fascination as Dick’s hole twitches slightly around him, Jason can’t help but feel absolutely wonderful. And maybe it feels perfect and like being home in a way actually _going_ home never has, like maybe this is where he’s supposed to be, buried balls deep inside his older brother, the person he’s loved and trusted and admired for as long as he can remember. Dick, only Dick, _always_ Dick, even when it was Bruce. Just Dick.  
  
There’s a small laugh and Jason realizes it’s not his own at the same moment that Dick’s strained voice rings out.  
  
“I know my name, Jay, and I appreciate it, but I need you to _move_.”  
  
He hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud.  
  
The little swivelrockthrust Dick does with his hips does funny things to Jason’s insides (and his knees, his cock, his lungs, his heart, and maybe even his brain), so much so that he feels he’s going to melt if he doesn’t groan and start sliding back, placing both hands on Dick’s hips and squeezing quickly. He moves until just the tip is in, waits past Dick’s deep exhale, then pushes back in with an exhale of his own, rougher than he intended but _good_ because it matches Dick’s strained inhale.  
  
They go through this a few times, a slow push in then slide out, ragged breaths given up into the relative silence of the room. Dick’s nails press but don’t dig into the wood of the table, and Jason’s dig into Dick’s hips, making little half moon marks of desire into his skin with each thrust. It’s perfect, absolute heaven until Dick tilts his hips, dropping down onto his elbows instead of his hands, and Jason slides in deeper, causing both of them to moan loudly; Dick at the stretchburnfeel of Jason inside him, Jason at the way Dick’s body spasms around him, tightening and _squeezing_ , drawing him in. It’s better than heaven, more perfect than anything else ever.  
  
It’s all Jason can do to hold himself back from completely ramming into the heat. He wants, wants so _badly_ to lean over and plunge inside Dick faster and faster until he’s consumed by pleasure.  
  
Except he doesn’t want this to be over.  
  
Doesn’t want to stop hearing Dick’s little exclamation with each thrust, the way he keens each time Jason rubs over the red handprints on his ass. He doesn’t want to miss a single shaky breath or panted curse or breathy moan of his name. He never wants to leave this moment; the smell of baking and sex filling the air, the slight squeak of the shoes’ soles on the floor as Dick tries to keep them in place as Jason rams into him, their shared groans, moans, and cries as they come together, the feel of Dick’s hips warm and solid in his hands.  
  
Because all his other senses are filled with this experience, Jason leans down and licks at the sweat at the junction of neck and shoulder. Dick tastes salty, almost tangy, sharp like the taste of soap when it gets in your mouth but much more pleasant. More masculine, like it felt to accidentally breath in through his mouth after peeling off Kevlar at the end of the night but without the rank smell of Gotham underneath the not unpleasant smell of male and sweat. He nibbles there at the sensitive skin as he thrusts harder, feeling Dick’s moans reverberate through his body where they’re pressed together, chest to back. Feels when the man starts moving back, searching for the angle that feels the best, finds it and thunks his forehead down against the table as he moans for Jason.  
  
 _“Yes. Jason. T-there...oh god, yes. N-need...harder, Jay, god, I need you.”_  
  
There’s no way Jason’s getting the sound of Dick’s voice, so needy, begging and demanding and driving him _insane_ , out of his head any time soon. No way he’s ever going back to not wanting to do this with him, to not _wanting_ him even more than his inner teenage self had wanted Dick when he was wearing the short pants and running around yelling bad puns at the villans. He still has some bad puns and Jason still wants him and he thinks that’s alright when Dick’s moving in such a way that there’s barely a difference between one thrust and the next, hardly a second between being in him and then almost out and back in again.  
  
He can feel the pressure in Dick’s body building, evident in the tight cord of his neck and the arch of his back, the tight squeeze around Jason’s cock as his thrusts become harder and more erratic, less finesse and more feeling, needy like their noises filling the space around them. The sounds crawl up Jason’s spine, fizzling like fire across his ribs, then roar back down and straight to his center, pulsing with need as his hips follow the siren’s call of Dick’s pleading whimpers, his needy little exclamations with each thrust. He’s always been a talker and Jason shouldn’t be surprised he’s so vocal during sex, but in a way he is, especially since he’s not actually saying any words, just short little pieces of them, mainly consonants strung together with drawn out vowels, throaty imitations of speech.  
  
It’s like a cycle. Jason thrusts, Dick vocalizes his pleasure. Jason’s brain deteriorates a bit with each new sound. He likes the yelp elicited when he pinches at the junction of Dick’s back and his ass, likes the broken cry in response to another spank even better. When he pushes in hard, faster and deeper than he thought possible, he can _hear_ Dick’s eyes roll back in his head with the pleasure making his body quiver with taut arousal under him. Dick’s moan is a plea and a surrender all wrapped up in the beautiful package that is the naked man below him.  
  
Jason’s hand move down and under, grabbing Dick’s cock and squeezing as he rolls his hips in, echoing the whine his partner makes and stroking him fast. It’s not the best hand job ever, made awkward by the fact that Dick’s got _hips_ , and he keeps _moving_ them, refusing to give up the pressure behind him in favor of the friction in front of him. He pushes back, groans, then thrusts forward into Jason’s fist, moaning as the calluses and scar tissue provide a rough caress over him. He gyrates his hips, managing to grind forward and back at the same time and Jason’s brain explodes at approximately the same time that Dick manages to gasp out that he’s coming.  
  
Watching him carry through on that is a thing of beauty. His entire body flexes, muscles and tendons contracting to bring even more attention to his hard-earned physique. He leans his head back, short hair at the nape of his neck sticking to his sweaty skin as he gasps for air. There’s a visible tremor that runs through his body, each muscle spasming with the pleasure that’s racking his body and causing jets of cum to run out and over Jason’s hand. ( _In the back of his mind he hopes that none got on the table because Alfred would_ kill _them, but he figures that might happen anyway so he’s not too concerned._ ) Besides, he can’t really think past the hottightperfcet that is Dick’s ass squeezing around him, tighter than any vise and much more pleasurable.  
  
When Dick moans and begins to soften, Jason starts moving again, biting his lip to keep from whimpering at the way Dick just _takes_ him in, pliant and still responsive, murmuring softly, almost tiredly.  
  
“Come on, Little Wing. I need you to do it. I need to feel you, all of you. Jason. Jay, please, give it to me.”  
  
It feels like the highest high when he finally climaxes, like he’s soaring off a tall building for the first time, that perfect second before the line snaps tight and jerks you back and up. Freefall. The perfect bliss of soaring without limits and without a care in the world. Then he feels like he’s being gut punched in the best way as his body jerks and spasms. He grunts in pleasure-pain with each pulse inside of Dick’s tight body, moans at the feel of being _milked_ as he slides out just a bit. He watches as his hands press deep into Dick’s skin, leaving more marks there, more signs of ownership. More.  
  
When he’s done and his brain isn’t as addled, he thinks for a second it would have been perfect poetic justice to have pulled out to cum all over Dick’s ass, coating the sweetest thing in the kitchen with its own layer of frosting. But as he eases out, ignoring Dick’s small noise in protest, he can’t regret it. His eyes trail after the bit of cum that drips out and down Dick’s thigh, watches as it slows and settles there on his skin like a brand. It’s not going to last, but _he’ll_ know it was there. He’ll know and Dick will know and that’s what matters. He’s already left his handprints all over the man’s body.  
  
And this is the part where Jason never really knows what to do. He doesn’t think Dick’s a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” kinda guy, but he also knows that he’s not going to walk upstairs and cuddle with the guy for hours. _He’s_ not that kind of guy.  
  
So instead he opts for something close to normal. He sits at the table after pulling his pants back up into place, ignoring how loud the zipper sounds in the now quiet kitchen.  
  
“You know, Dickie, you ought to start _telling_ people you’re there for the taking when you’re baking. I bet you’d get a lot more people interested in your cookies.”  
  
Dick turns to face him, still leaning on the table, legs a bit shaky in the heels, eyes still blown wide and more black than blue, less so than when they started but dark nonetheless. His lip is red and indented where Jason’s sure Dick’s teeth had been and doesn’t that make him wonder what sounds had been held back. But it’s his voice when he speaks that really gets him. It’s broken and raspy, almost raw from all the noise he’d made before. It sounds like he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes then washed it down with a giant glass of watery gravel.  
  
“J-Jason...th...” He rests his head against his forearm and looks over at Jason lazily, lids lowered halfway as he swallows and tries again as his voice breaks. He looks completely fucked out and perfectly ravished. “That...was fantastic. Amazing. Perfect. You were so perfect, Little Wing.”  
  
His voice is heady and tempting. If Jason was even a year younger, he’d be ready to go again, or at least more eager to try, but he can’t right now or it’s going to hurt both of them. Mainly Dick, and as much as he fucks everything else up, Jason does _not_ want to mess this up. Mess _him_ up. Especially when Dick’s reaching out to grab his hand and clinging to it like it’s a lifeline. His touch is soft and easily shaken off, but Jason finds that he doesn’t want to. He _should_ , but he _doesn’t_.  
  
It both terrifies and excites him.  
  
He can’t form words when Dick’s looking at him like that, so open with a multitude of feelings and meaning behind baby blues. Like he doesn’t want Jason to leave, doesn’t want this to end. Like maybe he’d want to do it again. Like maybe he _cares_.  
  
And of course he does, because he’s DIck and he’s always cared, always loved with more of himself than Jason thought possible. It was like he took it upon himself to love them all enough to make up for Bruce never showing any feelings towards them, like maybe if Dick gave them enough affection they wouldn’t notice the lack of it in other members of their “family.” Most times it only helped to shed light on the dichotomous divide between them, but this time Jason feels himself warm under Dick’s gaze, a light flush working its way up his neck at the way blue eyes roam slowly over his face.  
  
“Stay,” Dick whispers, lacing his fingers with Jason’s on top of the table. His voice is soft and wispy, barely audible, the one word indistinguishable except for the fact that Jason was already staring at the man’s lips so reading them was no problem.  
  
He wants to kiss them again. Wants to stay and see what else they can do. How many of his childhood wet dreams they can act out ( _Dick’s probably got the scaly panties around here_ somewhere) but...  
  
But.  
  
But he shouldn’t-can’t-won’t. He knows himself too well. He’ll stay and end up saying something awful, doing something wrong, messing up the situation in any number of ways. They’ll probably fight and Jason will let Dick down, will disappoint him and end up leaving on bad terms. Or he won’t and they’ll end up in bed, Dick curled around him like a giant starfish, his affection cloying and almost suffocating as Jason counts the minutes until Dick’s breath gets deep and even, until he slips into a deeper sleep so Jason’s leaving won’t be noticed. It’ll still be bad terms, but less so than the first option.  
  
Leaving now is best for everyone, his brain tells him. Less mess than either of the other two options.  
  
It’s hard to ignore the look of hope in Dick’s eyes as Jason stands and pulls the older man to his feet. He comes willingly, moving into Jason’s space, just slightly taller than him with the heels on. He doesn’t totter, doesn’t even wobble the slightest bit, and Jason’s impressed. Not many _girls_ could pull that off, especially after the ramming he just took, and here Dick is standing up straight and proud like it’s nothing at all. It’s just natural to pull him down into a kiss and show his appreciation.  
  
With tongue. And teeth. And maybe some ass grabbing. Because, really, it’s right _there_.  
  
When Dick moans softly and digs his nails gently into Jason’s hip, he pulls back slowly, breaking their contact with a small sound.  
  
“So does this mean you’ll stay?” Dick’s voice is low, a simple exhale against Jason’s lips. Intimate and even more hopeful than the look in his eyes had been.

It almost hurts to get out the next words, but Jason will never admit that to anyone.  
  
“I can’t,” he murmurs softly, and he feels the weight of Dick’s puppy dog eyes like a weight bar settling on his shoulders during training. “You should know that.”  
  
When he turns away, he ignores the pull that tells him he should turn back and pick up where that kiss left off. He can’t do it, can’t bare to hurt Dick any more than he’s already going to do by walking out now. It’d be worse if he stayed. He tells himself that as he picks up his shirt and pulls it back on before turning back towards Dick, who’s now sitting on the table, one leg crossed over the other as he leans back on his palms.  
  
“So, you’re just gonna walk?” His voice is flat and even, not accusatory or even sad, just...there. It’s remarkably close to Bruce’s inflection and that helps a bit with the nagging sense of guilt in his stomach. “Just like that?”  
  
Jason nods and forces himself to look Dick in the eye as he speaks. “Yeah. Just like that.”  
  
Dick doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just stares at him as he lounges on the table, and Jason notices the little things, takes mental images of them to save with all the other mementos he’s gathered from this little tryst. The hunch of Dick’s shoulders. The bit of cum on his hip. The way he can actually _cross_ his legs like a woman, knees and calves tight together as he sits. The shoes, still on his feet and still sinfully alluring.  
  
Dick blinks once at him but still doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and Jason finds himself compelled to fill the silence.  
  
“Look, Dickie, it’s not that I don’t wanna stay, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, putting it back into some semblance of normal before he leaves. “But I can’t. You should know this. I can’t stay because this--” He motions between them, encompassing the kitchen and the items scattered on the counter, the apron on the floor. “This doesn’t work. I don’t get my happy ending, not like this, not with you. You deserve better than me and I know this.” He smiles self-deprecatingly and holds up a hand to stop Dick’s protests.  
He walks over and slides between Dick’s legs as he uncrosses them and spreads them in invitation. Dick’s hands settle low on his hips and he looks up into Jason’s face with a sad, knowing smile. He doesn’t try to refute Jason’s claim, which is telling in itself, but not malicious, not from Dick. Instead, he rests his forehead against Jason’s with a sad sigh and squeezes his hips gently.  
  
“Will you come back, Jay?” His voice is soft, intimate again, brushing against Jason’s lips like the kiss he isn’t giving him. The kiss Jason wouldn’t return.  
  
He shrugs, raises one shoulder then lets it fall back down as he looks into Dick’s eyes, memorizes them from this close. “Maybe, Depends. You gonna bake for me again?” He smirks and feels Dick smile slowly.  
  
“Come over to my place sometime. I’ll make you anything you want.”  
  
The laugh that bubbles out of Jason’s mouth is surprised and genuine. He stops resisting and pulls Dick into a quick kiss, if only to take the smug smile off the man’s face.  
  
“You might wanna be careful what you offer, Dickie. I might just take you up on it.”  
  
He steps back and Dick slides gracefully off the table to land on steady legs balanced over high heels. His walk over to the counter is more of a sashay, but Jason appreciates it no matter what you call it. With a towel, the man wipes gently between his legs, managing to make it look attractive as opposed to crass or even remotely gross. Jason wishes he had the time to explore that thought more in depth, see how other things would look as Dick wiped them from all over his body.  
  
“Maybe that’s the point, Jason,” he murmurs, towel discarded and apron reclaimed. He ties an efficient bow behind his back and turns to face Jason again, beaming. “Maybe I want you to take me _up_ on it.”  
  
Jason laughs because the only other option is to groan when Dick _waggles_ his eyebrows as he says “up” and makes the beginnings of an obscene gesture. And suddenly the air isn’t so stifling in his lungs and he doesn’t feel as weighted with his decision to leave. Because this is normal for them--innuendo, banter. It’s a script Jason can follow along with and feel as if nothing much has changed.  
  
( _Even though all he’s going to be thinking about for the next week is Dick in those heels, that apron. His smooth, soft skin. His tight ass._ )  
  
“You need to work on your puns, Boy Wonder. They’re a little _half baked_.”  
  
Dick groans and Jason grins, picking it back up again.  
  
“It’s a good thing you’re so sweet or none of us would keep you around. Except maybe for the view.”  
  
He swats Dick in the side, right above the apron, and dodges the attempted rat-tail in response as Dick snags the towel again. It’s not difficult, Dick doesn’t put a lot of force behind it, but it’s still nice to see him try. Jason grabs the towel and pulls Dick closer by it, smiling as he _finally_ stumbles in those heels.  
  
“Gimme something sweet for the road?” he asks, voice low and (hopefully) tempting. He just wants one more. One more kiss and he’ll go, he’ll stop being so greedy, stop taking what he isn’t entitled to.  
  
Dick grins, his whole face lighting up as he replies in the same tone-- _”Sure, baby bird”_ \--then promptly shoves a muffin in Jason’s mouth.  
  
As Dick laughs, Jason chokes on the pastry in his mouth and spits it as a whole back into his hand.  
  
“The fuck, Dick?! Jesus, you tryin’ to kill me?”  
  
Dick just laughs and wipes a crumb away from the corner of Jason’s mouth, looking contrite as Jason coughs hard, sputtering curses.  
  
“Sorry, Little Wing, just couldn’t help it.”  
  
Jason rolls his eyes and snorts out a breath, biting into the muffin on his own this time. It’s not half bad. Nothing as good as Alfred’s, but it’s not as horrible as he’d expected.  
  
“Yeaf, welh you bevver muke it up to meh,” he says around his mouthful, dropping crumbs on the immaculate floor.  
  
Dick just shakes his head, smiling widely as he hands over a bag with 3 muffins, which Jason takes. They might not be the best muffins but they’re free food and he’s not stupid.  
  
“Whatever you say, Jay,” Dick calls to him as the vigilante saunters out of the kitchen, swallowing his bite with some difficulty.  
  
“You best make sure you’ve got those scaly panties the next time I roll through, _old chum_. Because next time--ooooh, you’re gonna sing so pretty for me, my little _Robin_.”  
  
He grabs his jacket and opens the front door, slamming it behind him in the middle of Dick’s indignant reply.  
  
 _“They’re not panites, Jay, they’re--”_  
  
He doesn’t care what Dick _wants_ to call them as long as he wears them. Those legs in those shorts with those heels? God, Jason can feel the orgasms waiting to happen.  
Maybe dropping in on family isn’t so bad after all, he thinks, mouth full of muffin and still riding the last traces of orgasmic bliss. Maybe there _is_ a reason to stop by his brother more often.


End file.
